The Stag and The Crown
by reading-is-in
Summary: 3 Vignettes of life at Storm's End, before, during, and after the rebellion.


I.

Robert favoured Renly.

It was rather self-regarding of him, Stannis thought. People said that Renly was the very image of Robert as a child, they were both loud, and they both had that obnoxious disregard for decorum. Robert made Renly worse. On his rare visits home from the Eyrie, which Renly looked forward to with excitement approaching hysteria, he encouraged the toddler in his wilder games, mock-fighting and chasing him around Storm's End, and taught him obscene phrases to shock maids and dinner guests. Robert found that completely hilarious, and would prompt the angelic-faced child to 'tell Lord Slynt about the girl from Dorne' whilst Stannis ground his teeth and stared at his platter.

"Do you truly think it wise to so affront our bannermen?" Stannis bit off finally.

"Seven gods, don't predict a rebellion over it, Stannis!" Robert clapped him on the back and Stannis stumbled forwards. At fifteen, Robert was muscled like warrior, and his training under this Arryn Lord had apparently increased his strength more than he knew. "The only person _affronted_ is you. Perhaps if you removed the stick from up your arse once in a while you'd see that."

"I hope for your sake and his that's true, brother."

Robert rolled his eyes.

II.

Renly hated Stannis.

He just knew if Stannis would go ask the men in the tents very nicely, they would give them some food. The men in the tents had plenty to share. He'd seen them feasting and holding tourneys, their bright colours flush against the grey lines of the Stormlands.

"They're doing it to taunt us," Stannis said sharply, when Renly tried to explain his idea. But that was because Stannis never_ tried_, he was just mean to everyone, and that was only the beginning.

He didn't remember so much of what happened after. The days became long, and it hurt, and it was always cold, and he remembered crying a lot. He didn't want to play anymore, even though there was another boy here now, a black-haired child with sticking-out ears. Stannis looked up and down and said,

"I suppose it was inevitable sooner or later. How do you like that, Renly, you're an uncle," and Lady Selyse began to cry.

He knew they ate the horses. He didn't want to eat a horse, but by then he was so hungry he didn't care, and then one night the hard strips of chewy meat tasted different, and he heard one of the men say it was dog.

"NO!" he screamed, spitting out the bite from his meager portion.

"Do not waste it child," Maester Cressen said tiredly. "There'll be nothing else till tomorrow."

"No," Renly started crying. "Dogs are my friends."

"Eat it or I'll hold you down and force it into your mouth," said Stannis.

Renly cried harder, threw himself on Stannis, and hit him as hard as he could with his little fists. Stannis waited until he was finished, immovable.

III.

Stannis would suit Dragonstone, Robert thought. It was as cheerless and severe as he was. Besides, Stannis loved nothing more than duty, and he'd proven himself a leader of men now, as implacable in war as in life.

Visiting Storm's End after the conquest had been grim enough. The weather was gloomy, oppressive as always, thunderous clouds threatening overhead. The air was humid, crackling. Once he'd have thought nothing of it, but all those years at the Eyrie and then the war had made him forget how the very stones of his birthlands seemed to tighten, tense before a storm.

He'd gathered from the little Ned had told him that the entire castle had suffered badly under the Tyrell siege, but he found himself surprisingly unprepared for the sight of his brothers. Robert was a warrior - what he knew of war was learned at the front of a host, warhammer singing, the costs paid in blood and bone and the death gurgles of a young opponent forever seared in memory. Storm's End had paid a different price. Always lean, the Stannis who greeted him formally in the courtyard seemed stripped to the bone, face gaunt and eyes hard, unreadable.

"My liege," Stannis knelt, and Robert said,

"For gods' sakes," and raised him. They clasped hands – and as their eyes met, an unfamiliar feeling rippled down Robert's spine, something foreboding, some – trepidation.

"My lady wife sends her apologies," said Stannis. "She is not well."

"Give her my regards," Robert said.

"Your regards. I'm sure she will receive them gratefully."

What?

"ROBERT!" Renly came running, pounding over the flagstones, Maester Cressen trying to hurry after him, puffing. Robert watched the old man, even as he caught his youngest brother and picked him up. Gods, he was light – startlingly so – skinny and drawn as a peasant's child in the stews of King's Landing.

"Lord Renly," Robert greeted him by his new title.

Renly burst out laughing.

"You're the KING!" he shouted. "I knew you would be. I said it, didn't I Stannis? I knew you'd come to save us. And now we can have a feast every night, and all the people in the seven kingdoms are happy. Can I come to King's Landing soon? Can I sit on your throne?"

"Why not," Robert shrugged. "It's my throne."

Stannis made a stifled sound.

"And we'll all live happily ever after," Renly said.

The clouds groaned and opened.


End file.
